


A Spark of Heavenly Fire

by ladyblahblah



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, Genderswap, M/M, Masturbation, Other, girl!Jim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:38:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyblahblah/pseuds/ladyblahblah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A transporter incident results in genderswapped!Jim.  He reacts . . . pretty much like you'd expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I should mention that this was an auction fic for [](http://cannedebonbon.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://cannedebonbon.livejournal.com/)**cannedebonbon** and I am SO SORRY, oh god that was back in February, I can't believe I haven't gotten this to you yet I'm terrible.  >_<  However, here is the first part!  It has Jim, and boobs, and . . . Jim and boobs?  Sorry, sorry, sorry again. >_< Additionally, there will be a note at the end regarding pronouns, if such things are of concern/interest to you.

 

There is in every true woman's heart, a spark of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the broad daylight of prosperity, but which kindles up and beams and blazes in the dark hour of adversity.

WASHINGTON IRVING, _The Sketch Book_

 

 

_Day 1_

 

“Everything's looking fine, sir. Um. Captain.” Christine opens her mouth, closes it again, and turns her attention back to her tricorder with a small shake of her head. “Vitals are all strong and steady; your cholesterol is a little high,” she adds with a significant look, “but that's nothing we haven't been telling you for the past six months. If you don't look out, Dr. McCoy's going to actually put you on that diet like he keeps threatening to.”

“You've gotta enjoy life while you can, Lieutenant, otherwise what's the point? And a salad is _not_ enjoying life.” Jim grins at her. “And you can still call me 'sir' if you want to.”

“Yes, sir,” she says dryly, and Jim's grin widens. “As I was saying, you seem perfectly healthy. Just like the others.”

“Right. So I can go? Present company aside, sickbay isn't exactly my favorite place on the ship.”

“You can go _back to your quarters_ , yes.” Her voice is firm, and the look on her face says that there's no room for negotiation. With M'Benga on leave and McCoy out of commission as well, she's clearly taking her role as acting chief medical officer seriously. Jim wonders, not for the first time, if there's a file somewhere in Bones's office labeled: _Jim Kirk: How To Ensure He Doesn't Get Away With Any Of His Horseshit_. It would certainly explain a lot. “Until we get official word from Starfleet Command—”

“I'm on suspended duty. I know, I already got the speech from Spock. Don't worry, I'm not gonna sneak onto the bridge and hope no one notices me in the center seat. I'll be good, I promise.”

“Uh huh.” Christine clearly doesn't believe it for a minute, which . . . okay, fair. She doesn't press the issue, though, which automatically wins her points over Bones, as far as Jim's concerned. “Just try to stay out of trouble? And don't make me send security to drag you back here in two days, because you know I'll do it.”

“I don't doubt that for a minute,” Jim mutters, and hops down off of the biobed, only stumbling a little. “You've got my word, I'll be here.”

“Good. Now, I have other patients to see, and Dr. McCoy's notes to try to make sense of.” Christine's eyes glint wickedly; it's the first crack in her professionalism since the away team beamed aboard, and something in Jim relaxes seeing it. “Run along, little lady.”

Jim glares up at her, shifting her shoulders uncomfortably. “It's weird that you're taller than me now.”

“Only by a couple of inches,” Christine says soothingly, but her smile speaks volumes. Jim's pretty sure she's resisting the urge to pat her on the head. “Go on, get.”

“Just because you've taken over for Bones doesn't mean you have to start talking like him you know.” Jim quickly raises her hands in surrender. “I'm going, I'm going! Jeez.”

“And _try_ to eat something healthy for dinner.”

“Sorry, can't hear you,” Jim calls over her shoulder, “I'm too far away!”

She's slowly getting accustomed to this new body, but walking through the corridors still feels strange. She knows the technical reasons behind it—the shift in her body mass and center of gravity, not to mention the fact that everything just looks  _wrong_ from a vantage point five inches shorter than what she's used to—but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with. The crew is giving her the occasional odd look, as well; whether that's because they've heard about what happened, or because she's barefoot and wearing clothes that fit oddly now, to say the least, she doesn't know. All she's really sure of is that she can't get to her quarters quickly enough.

Unfortunately, when she does finally make it there, it isn't quite the haven she'd imagined. It's quiet, yes, and away from curious eyes, but just as they had in the corridors, things look  _wrong_ . She lowers herself onto the sofa in a graceless heap, something she's done a hundred times before. She's used to having farther to go than she does now, however, and hits the cushions sooner than expected with a jarring  _thump_ .

Jim takes a deep breath and buries her face in her hands. She's been putting on a good face until now, keeping it together for the sake of the crew, especially Bones and Chekov. They're all three in the same boat on this, and falling apart in front of them isn't going to help anything. But in the quiet dimness of her own quarters, Jim allows herself a few moments to quietly but decidedly freak the fuck out.

“ _Is it permanent?”_

“ _I dinna know, sir; I don't even know what happened!”_

Jim shakes her head, clearing out the echoes of the overheard conversation. There's no use dwelling on it. So they might not be able to turn her back; if that's the case, then she'll just have to deal with it. And part of dealing, she tells herself sternly, is getting up off her ass and facing what's happened to her head-on.

There's a decently-sized mirror in the bathroom, and for several long moments she simply stands there, forcing herself to take in the sight of her new reflection. It could be worse, she acknowledges; quite a lot worse. Her face is a little narrower, and her eyes are a little larger, sure, but she's still recognizably  _him_ . Same bushy eyebrows, even if they're a little thinner now. Same hair, which she has to say is an unexpected relief, and she's surprised at how well it actually goes with her new look. Her smile, when she manages to summon one up, is the same, and yes, there's that old familiar scar on her cheek.

“Still me,” she mutters thankfully, and then her eyes drift down to her chest and she grins. “With a few additions.”

She strips out of her shirt without a second thought, and her breath releases on a quiet sigh. Her breasts aren't especially large—not as full as Bones's are, certainly, which Jim is still telling herself is no reason to be jealous—but they're well-shaped and they hang on her chest with a pleasant sort of weight. The nipples are a soft, deep pink, and already tightening in the cooler air. Jim reaches up—her hands are so much smaller now, it's strange—and gently cups the lower swell, feeling them rest against her palms. Her pulse is picking up already, and when she lets her index fingers skim over her nipples she gasps, instinctively pressing forward into the touch. Jim's always  
had sensitive nipples, but this is something else entirely. It sends a deep, immediate tug through her body, and heat begins to build between her thighs.

Before she can get distracted she slides her hands down, over a lean, flat stomach to the top of newly curved hips. Pants and underwear are removed as quickly as her shirt had been, and she stands on her toes to get a better look over the counter. A thick thatch of hair forms a rough triangle between her legs; turning around, she manages a glimpse of the swell of her ass and lets out a low whistle.

She is a  _babe_ .

Tempting as this unexpected bright side to this situation may be, she's abruptly distracted by a loud, insistent rumble from her stomach. She hasn't actually eaten since before they beamed aboard close to ten hours ago, and it's high time she rectified that situation now that she's not stuck in sickbay anymore.

Her first order of business, then, is to find clothes that come closer to actually fitting this body. She rustles up a pair of boxers that serve well enough when she rolls them at the waist, and a pair of drawstring sweatpants that she cinches tight and cuffs until they're short enough. None of her shoes will fit at all, but by god if she has to walk barefoot through her ship again to get some food, that's what she'll do. She's still digging through her drawers for an appropriate shirt when there's a buzz at the bathroom door, and she calls out without thinking.

“C'mon in, Spock.” She turns around as she hears the door slide open, shirt gripped in one hand. “Any word from command yet?”

“No, sir.” Spock's left eyebrow lifts just a fraction, and he averts his eyes to a spot somewhere above and to the left of Jim's shoulder. “Perhaps I should return when you are fully dressed?” he suggests dryly.

“Huh? Oh!” Jim is torn between embarrassment and delight at the spots of color that have appeared high on Spock's cheeks. “Sorry,” she says with a grin, and starts to tug her shirt on. “Guess I'm not used to thinking about being topless around you.” It's not exactly true; he'd always been _extremely_ aware of his own state of undress around Spock, it was just much easier to get away with it before. “You can look again, I'm decent. You don't really think the brass will make me stay on leave just because of this, do you?” she presses. “My mind's fine, it's just my body that's a little . . . different.”

“I can not say for certain.” Spock looks thoughtful as he returns his eyes to Jim. “If they are disinclined to allow you back on the bridge, however, I would presume that you might have a reasonable case for a discrimination suit.”

Jim lets out a laugh and steps forward to clap him on the arm. It's a longer reach than she's used to, and she fights back the wave of unease that causes.

“That's looking on the bright side.” She jerks her head towards the corridor. “I was just about to go grab some dinner. Come to the mess with me and we'll go over ship's status. Just for my own peace of mind,” she clarifies when Spock looks ready to protest. “Just because I'm not in charge of her right now doesn't mean I don't still have an interest in how she's doing.”

“Very well,” Spock says after a long moment. His eyebrow wings higher as Jim heads for the door. “You plan to wear those clothes outside of your quarters?”

Jim lifts her arms to the sides. “This is all I have that'll fit. Not exactly regulation, but then, I'm not exactly on duty, am I?” Spock's lips twitch just a bit at that, and Jim grins proudly. “Unless you've got a better suggestion?”

“I suppose not.”

“Good. I'll stop by the ship's stores after I get some food. If nothing else, I need to get some shoes; I'm not walking around the ship barefoot any longer than I have to.”

“I . . .” Spock's hesitation brings Jim up short again. “What I mean to say, sir, is that there is a replicator here in your quarters. Do you truly think it advisable to go to the mess, amidst the rest of the crew, in your current state?”

“Yes, I do. I can't just hide in here, Spock,” Jim says quietly. “I'm still their captain, and they need to see me; I can't let them think that this is all it takes to shake me. Besides.” She squares her shoulders. “Gender's just a construct, after all. Why not have a little bit of fun deconstructing it?”

Spock regards her silently for a moment before he nods. “Indeed, sir.”

“Well. Now that that's settled, let's go get some dinner.” She leads the way, grinning back over her shoulder. “And just because we're down the rabbit hole, don't let that make you afraid to call me Jim. Unless you'd prefer Jamie?”

“Perhaps we should stop at the ship's stores sooner rather than later, _Jim_ ,” Spock says dryly, and Jim laughs.

“That's the spirit, Mr. Spock. All right; let's go shopping.”

 

 

 


	2. Day 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, um. Guys, I'm not even going to pretend this is anything other than gratuitous girl!wanking porn. You're welcome. -_-

__

 

Jim scowls, hands braced on her hips. Her jaw is clenched against the frustration trying to swamp her, and her breath comes out through gritted teeth.

 

“Is there a problem, Captain?”

 

Speaking of frustration.

 

Spock is dressed all in black, in loose pants and a close-fitting shirt that he claims are in keeping with his Vulcan warrior heritage. Jim suspects, though—and has for some time—that Spock's wardrobe choice for the gym has less to do with cultural tradition and more to do with him knowing that it makes him look almost unbearably sexy. Jim's eyes flick quickly up and down his body, taking in long limbs and lean muscles and fucking hell, Jim wants to climb him like a tree.

 

“I'm not making as much progress as I'd hoped,” is all she says, though, turning her attention back to the mats. “I've been drilling after every shift for almost two full weeks, and I still haven't been able to pass my hand-to-hand re-qualification.”

 

“Is it vital that you do so?” Spock steps forward and Jim's mouth nearly starts to water. She can _smell_ him, which is ridiculous because Spock isn't even sweating as far as she can see, but there it is. Jim swallows heavily before she can actually start to drool. “According to the projections that Mr. Scott and I have put together, we may have you returned to your original sex in as little as six months. It is unlikely that you have need to physically defend yourself in that time.”

 

“As _little_ as,” Jim mutters, rolling her eyes. “First of all, six months in a different body isn't _a little_ span. Don't get me wrong, it's not all bad; but it's hardly been a walk in the park so far, and I don't see that changing anytime soon.” She shakes her head. “And what if you _can't_? Projections are all well and good, but last I checked you still weren't even entirely sure this treatment you're devising is even going to work.”

 

“No scientific process is ever a hundred percent ensured of success,” Spock begins to hedge, but Jim cuts him off with a jerk of one irritatingly delicate hand.

 

“Look, the point is, none of us really know if this is going to be temporary, after all, and it would hardly be responsible of me to pretend that I am. Which means that until we find out for sure, I'm going to assume that it's not. That means getting myself back to where I was before all this happened. Besides.” She rolls her shoulders. “I may have the center seat back, but I'm still not cleared for away missions until I get my combat readiness back up to par.”

 

“I see.” Spock, damn his gorgeous eyes, looks almost amused now, and Jim smiles despite herself.

 

“Look, you know I love this ship, but that doesn't mean I want to be stuck on her all the damn time. Exploring new worlds was supposed to be part of the package deal.” She eyes Spock again, speculatively this time. “You know, it'd help if I had someone to spar with. Going through the motions on my own certainly doesn't seem to be doing much good.”

 

Spock hesitates. “I am not certain that would be wise,” he says at last, and Jim scowls.

 

“Don't tell me you're pulling some kind of ridiculous sexist crap here, Spock.”

 

“I do not believe so,” Spock replies with an arch of his eyebrow. “However, it has been some time since I have sparred with anyone at a significantly lower skill level than myself.”

 

“Significantly lower skill level?” Jim repeats dangerously.

 

“I would not wish to injure you.”

 

“Oh, that is _it_ ,” Jim snarls, her eyes narrowing as she drops into a crouch. “I'm gonna have to kick your ass now.”

 

Spock moves into a similar stance, something perilously close to a smirk tugging at his lips. “By all means, captain, I invite you to try.”

 

Jim strikes out first, and unsurprisingly finds herself hampered by her new body. She misjudges her own reach and overextends to compensate, sending her perilously off-balance. Even properly supported, her chest sticks out far more than she's used to; it's still catching her off-guard, and interfering with her swings. Spock dodges the blow with almost insulting ease, and doesn't even deign to strike back.

 

“My apologies,” he says smugly. “Have you changed your mind about sparring after all?”

 

Jim glares so hard she's surprised Spock doesn't simply burst into flames, but her mind is already realigning itself. Something about the familiarity of readying herself to spar with Spock has made realization strike. She's been trying to fight with the same style and moves she's used to, which she shouldn't have ever expected to work, really. That's obvious. Jim has never been one to get bogged down in repetitive strategy before; no need for that to change just because her body has.

 

Her next move is careful, testing; Spock easily blocks, but connecting isn't the point anymore. She shifts to the left and tries again, paying attention to her body and how it moves. She doesn't have as much power as she's used to, but she's lighter on her feet and what she  _does_ have now is speed. Without giving herself time to over-think it, she lets instinct take over and darts swiftly inside Spock's guard, managing a glancing blow to a vulnerable ear. It's one of the few weak points she's been able to ferret out in their two years of sparring together, and she has the satisfaction of seeing the wince of pain Spock can't quite conceal before his eyes narrow.

 

“Still find this _amusing_?” she asks sweetly, already starting to circle again.

 

“That would be a highly illogical response.” 

 

Spock is tracking her movements, lashing out after a moment with what she realizes almost too late is a feint. Though she dodges the real strike, it throws her off-balance long enough for Spock to back away far enough for his reach to be an advantage again. They're going at each other in earnest now, Jim targeting every vulnerable spot that he can think of as she all but dances out of the way of Spock's heavier blows. But though she's been trained in hand-to-hand with someone larger and stronger, most of the moves she's always favored require more brute force than she has at her disposal now, and she can't manage any appreciable damage. Already tired from her workout before Spock arrived, it isn't long before she's a hair too slow to avoid the sweeping kick that sends her feet out from under her. The impact with the mats drives the air from her lungs long enough for Spock to drop as well, large hands engulfing her wrists as he pins her down.

 

Jim's breath clogs in her throat as competitiveness turns to arousal in the space of a heartbeat. Looming over her, pinning her body with his, it fully hits her just how much larger Spock really is now. He feels enormous and heavy on top of her, and while Jim has never considered herself the delicate-flower type, she certainly feels like one now. She tries to shift, seeking some sort of release for the pressure that's building inside of her, but she's being held too firmly, and the vulnerability of her position has heat blooming between her thighs.

 

“So I still have a ways to go. Still,” she grins breathlessly, her eyes dropping to Spock's mouth. “Progress.”

  
“Indeed.” Spock's voice is a low rumble that makes her want to arch up into him, but she manages to stifle the urge and lift a quizzical eyebrow instead.

 

“Planning on letting me up anytime soon, Spock?”

 

“My apologies.” Spock releases her wrists and rises to his feet in a surge of grace that Jim can't help but envy as she manages an ungainly scramble to her own. “It is still occasionally . . . extraordinary, seeing you in this form. I'm afraid I was momentarily distracted.”

 

“No problem.” Jim rolls her shoulders, trying to ignore how achingly empty she suddenly feels. There's a faint trace of green on Spock's cheekbones; she bites back the urge to trace the spot with her fingertips. “Ah. I'd probably better hit the showers.”

 

“An excellent suggestion. I imagine the rest of Gamma shift will be most appreciative if I do the same.”

 

“Probably so,” Jim manages to chuckle. “I'll see you in the morning, Mr. Spock.”

 

She double-times it back to her quarters, barely taking the time to acknowledge her crew as she passes. The heat that's rising in her is nothing new; this will hardly be the first time she's had to get herself off after one of these sparring sessions. But Bones's warning two weeks ago about an unfamiliar mix of hormones apparently wasn't just his usual brand of over-caution. Jim can't remember the last time she felt this desperate from such innocent contact, and she knows that if she could've moved at the time she might very well have spread her legs for Spock right then and there, and do hell with anyone who might be watching. Now, with the mental image of Spock stripping down for the showers refusing to leave her thoughts, lust is gnawing at her like hunger, and she needs . . . she needs . . . she just  _needs_ .

 

Jim doesn't indulge in the captain's privilege of an actual water shower very often, but every so often there are times that sonics just won't do. She turns the water on hot as she strips out of her sweaty clothes, and for a moment when she steps under the spray she simply enjoys the feeling of the sweat and grime on her skin being rinsed away. Her mind circles quickly back to the feel of Spock pressing her down, the gentle yield of the mat beneath her, and Jim's hand slips quickly down between her legs.

 

The first time she'd tried this she'd been briefly afraid that her brain might actually short out. She hadn't even been able to imagine before what it would feel like, her fingers rubbing teasingly over her clit; the force of the pleasure it brought had left her gasping and biting at her lip, trying to keep quiet so that Spock wouldn't hear her through the door that separated his quarters from the head. He's not there now, though, and she's in no mood for teasing. She pushes through her curls to where she's already throbbing, fingers moving immediately in hard, tight circles.

 

Jim leans against the tiled wall, chest heaving as she imagines doing as she'd wanted in the gym and opening her legs wide for Spock to settle between them. Her hand moves faster, and she wonders how it would feel to have Spock's hand on her instead, his palm cupping her as those long, elegant fingers rub and press and squeeze as she's doing now. She wonders how it would be, if he'd be gentle or rough, coolly controlled or as wild as he'd been the only other time Jim had seen him give in to his passion. She imagines him holding her down as he had earlier, hips moving in long, hard thrusts as he pounds into her; her other hand lifts to tug hard at her nipple and she's coming, letting out a high, keening cry as she shudders out her release.

 

Her legs feel weak and shaky as she finishes up her shower, washing up as quickly as she can. She shuts off the water and grabs her towel to rub herself briskly dry. As she does, however, the material grazes over her nipples, and she chokes out a helpless moan as they immediately harden again. Her breath is already growing shallow, the heat between her legs swiftly building. She hasn't felt this helplessly horny since she was a teenager, jerking off three times a day just to stay sane. She wants to come again;  _needs_ to with a ferocity that catches her off guard. It's a deep, insistent ache, one that she's completely unprepared to fight.

 

Ten minutes later she's stretched out on her bed, naked and panting, one hand teasing her nipples and the other buried between her legs. Her back is arching, hips moving frantically as she rides the three fingers she's shoved inside while her thumb rubs hard against her clit. Jim can't get enough; she has to have more; she pulls her left leg towards her chest so that her fingers can slide deeper. She's soaking wet, hand slicked to the wrist from the moisture pouring out of her, and she can imagine how she looks like this: spread open, fucking herself onto her own fingers as she moans like she's being paid for it. She thinks of Spock again, then, of what might happen if he were to walk in and see her like this, and the thought is enough to push her over the edge. Her muscles spasm tightly around her fingers, setting off a series of aftershocks that leave her dazed and boneless, and she stares up at the ceiling of her quarters as she tries to remember how to think.

 

Sated as she is, she can already feel that it's only temporary. That raw, insistent hunger is lurking beneath the blissful haze of endorphins; Jim wonders, in a dazed, detached sort of way, if she's ever going to get to the paperwork she'd planned to tackle tonight.

 

Probably not, she thinks, and settles back to enjoy the afterglow while it lasts.


	3. Day 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is now biologically female. Turns out this has certain unpleasant implications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY I'M NOT SORRY. Um. As ever, if this interests you (or if you like The Avengers, Teen Wolf, space husbands, and assorted pretty things), feel free to follow me on Tumblr under the handle hungrylikethewolfie. OKAY GONNA GO HIDE IN A CORNER NOW.

 

Jim isn't going to survive. She knows she's not; there's no way she possibly can, no way  _anyone_ could. Yes, logic says that there are somewhere in the neighborhood of two hundred women aboard this ship who regularly endure what she's currently experiencing, but logic has no place in her world right now. She curls tighter in on herself and buries her face in the bedspread. Unless logic can somehow take away the agony she's suffering now, it can fuck right off as far as she's concerned.

 

It's not the worst pain she's ever felt. Over the course of her Starfleet career she's been hit with phaser blasts; she's been stabbed no fewer than three times; she's broken bones and fought through head injuries and endured the raw brutality of naked fists. So no, it's not the worst. But it's  _immediate_ . It's happening now, and you know what, objectivity can fuck off, too.

 

The ache is one that she's never really imagined before: as if her insides are caught in a vise while simultaneously attempting to claw their way out of her body.  _Natural_ , Christine had said when Jim had managed to drag herself into sickbay.  _Unpleasant, I know, but nothing out of the ordinary._ She hadn't missed the way Chris's eyes had flicked over to Bones's office, and Jim had slunk out with the cold comfort that at least her friend would know her torment soon enough.

 

She isn't naïve; it's not as though she didn't have  _any_ idea of what menstruation would entail. After all, she's taken biology courses, and she's also dated enough women to know that the textbook definitions barely scratch the surface. But knowing, she's discovering, is a different thing altogether from  _experiencing_ . The bloating and discomfort; the way her breasts are swollen and painful; the powerful, bone-deep exhaustion; the  _mess_ , good god, of a constant stream of blood escaping from between her thighs; when she considers all of that, she thinks that cramps might actually be the least of her problems.

 

Then a fresh one hits, and she reevaluates.

 

She ignores the chime at the door; anyone with an actual emergency will have an override code for the lock, and anyone else can damn well wait. By the third time she hears it, however, she's forced to admit that apparently they _won't_ wait, and she groans as she buries her face in the pillow.

 

“Come,” she finally manages to rasp out, doing her best to sit up when the door slides open.

 

“Captain.” Uhura looks as collected and smoothly put-together as always, and Jim would probably hate her a little bit for that even without the hint of smugness that's curving up her lips. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Jim drops back down to the mattress with a groan. She hears the door slide shut, and Uhura's stifled chuckle.

 

“Chris said you were in pretty bad shape. She asked if I'd come check on you.”

 

Jim cracks one eye open in as much of a glare as she can manage. “She sent you here to gloat,” she corrects flatly, and Uhura's lips twitch again.

 

“Maybe. Most of the women on this ship would probably love to see this, but Chris likes me best.”

 

“I'm thrilled for you,” Jim groans. “I don't suppose she sent you here with anything actually _useful_ , did she?”

 

“She said you were either resistant or allergic to most all of the painkillers onboard. Sorry.”

 

“Yeah.” Jim manages a weak sort of chuckle. “Apparently this new hormone balance fucked me over in more ways than one. Gotta suffer through this old-school. How the hell do people _do_ this every month?”

 

“Practice,” Uhura says dryly. “Don't worry, you'll toughen up. In the meantime, don't you at least have a heat pack?”

 

“Didn't do any good.” Jim gestures at the discarded pad that's fallen to the floor. “Just made me sweat on top of everything else.”

 

Uhura sighs. “You know, I really thought this would be funny, but it's actually just kind of pathetic. Here.” She strides over to the side of the bed and hauls Jim upright. “Come on, up.”

 

“What are you—”

 

“I'm _helping_. And you'd better remember this come promotion time.” Her eyes are sparkling, but her hands are gentle as she eases Jim towards the head of the bed. “Okay, lie back. Good. Now swing your feet up.” She guides Jim's legs until they're stretched straight up, braced against the wall behind the bed.

 

“You're just doing this to make me look like an idiot, aren't you?”

 

“Which of us has more experience with this situation, hmm?” Uhura's arched eyebrow would do Spock proud. “Besides, if I were trying to humiliate you I'd pick a more public forum. There's no one here but me, and I already know you're an idiot.”

 

“Fair enough.” Jim takes a deep breath and frowns. “Huh. This actually isn't bad.”

 

“It's a trick my grandmother taught me. Not a cure-all, but it'll help keep the pain manageable until it starts to die down. When you think you can handle standing up again, go down to the gym and get in the hot tub—it's much better than a heat pack anyway, believe me.” She stands back, hands on her hips. “You should be okay for now. Should I tell Spock to come check on you when he's finished with his shift?”

 

“What?” Jim's head lifts off of the bed in panic, and she stares wide-eyed up at a grinning Uhura. “No! Why? No.”

 

“Suit yourself,” Uhura shrugs. She turns to head for the door, pausing only to smirk meaningfully over her shoulder. “Let me know if you reconsider, though. He's got magic hands.”

 

Craning her body to stare after her, Jim topples off of the bed as the door slides closed.

 

  


**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note 2: After much going back and forth, I finally settled on female pronouns for girl!Jim, as I feel it better communicates the psychological impact of this change. I do not mean to imply, however, that suddenly having a biologically female body automatically makes him a woman. I'd originally intended to begin with male pronouns and then shift into female as his mindset alters, but it simply wasn't working from a technical standpoint. However, I do see nu!Jim as rather fluid in his understanding and expression of his own gender, and likely to fling himself as enthusiastically into female-presentation as he embraces traditional masculinity in the normal course of things. It is never my intent to offend anyone by my writing choices, but if you have any objections or concerns, please feel free to contact me to discuss them. Thank you again for your time.


End file.
